Another Dozen
by Argonaut57
Summary: Some people turn up in the oddest places! A Bakers' Dozen of episodes in which our favourite TimeLord meets friends old and new.


**Another Dozen**

 _Somewhere near Gotham City_

I was updating surveillance files when I heard the sound. Somewhere in the back of the cave. A groaning, whirring sound. Only one thing sounds like that, and I hadn't expected to hear it outside of a recording. I carried on with what I was doing until I heard him clear his throat behind me. I hadn't heard him come up, which said a lot. I stopped the playback and turned around.

He matched at least one of the descriptions. Tall, spare, thin face, short-cropped hair, intense eyes. Dark crew-neck, leather jacket. He gave me a grin that was a little too wide to be comfortable for anybody not used to the Joker.

"Hello, Bruce." He said in a northern British accent. "Your alarm system isn't working very well."

"It's working fine, Doctor." I told him. "I programmed it to ignore you and the TARDIS."

"You know who I am?" He seemed put out, rather than surprised.

"It's my business to keep an eye on dangerous people." I pointed out.

"I see." He said. "Dangerous enough to monitor, but not enough to rate an alarm?"

"What would be the point?" I asked. "If you want in, you'll get in. If you want me gone, I'm gone."

That grin again. "Oh, you're a clever one!" He squinted past me at the screen. "He's a dangerous person as well?"

"One of the most dangerous." I looked back at the screen. It was paused on an image from a recent news bulletin. It showed Clark down on one knee, being given a bunch of flowers by a little girl. His face had a big aw-shucks grin that showed him for the Kansas farm-boy he still is at heart.

"I knew his Dad." The Doctor said. "His real Dad, I mean, Jor-El. He wouldn't approve of all this Superman stuff. All the interfering. He'd want Kal to leave well alone."

"He's not Kal-El." I said. "Not in his mind. He's Clark Kent, son of Jonathan and Martha Kent. Just an all-American small-town boy. With enough raw power to rip the planet in two."

"He's not the only one with that kind of power." The Doctor pointed out. "Why does he worry you more than the others?"

"The others?" I laughed. "J'onn J'onzz and Bloodwynd are both sophisticated men. They know when they should or shouldn't interfere. Dr Fate is…Fate. He only does what he has to do. The Spectre judges individuals, not countries or societies. Swamp Thing will defend nature, but other than that, he's not concerned with human affairs.

"But Clark. Clark's intelligent, but not clever. He sees the world in black and white, still believes in good and evil, honour and patriotism. If they put the flag in front of him and tell him that everything it stands for is in danger, he'll do what the Kents brought him up to do, and millions will die.

"Worse. If he ever becomes disillusioned, he might just decide to tear everything down and rebuild it in his own image."

This time, the Doctor didn't smile. "Good." He said. "I was scared I might be the only one to see it. I didn't want to be the one who had to stop him. I mean, I'd do it, but I don't ever want to have to go that far again."

"Wiping out the last of a race strike too close to home?" I asked.

"Two extinctions in one lifetime is enough." He said flatly. "You've got a plan?"

"Of course I've got a plan." I said. "I'm the Batman."

 _Epsilon Eridani_

The ship was invisible to those who worked on the immense structure nearby. From the bridge, the Kosh watched as the place that was soon to be its home took shape. Whatever thoughts it might have been having were interrupted by a voice.

"That's their fifth attempt, isn't it? Three destroyed, one vanished, and they build a fifth. Each one better than the last. A remarkable race, hm?"

Kosh turned to the speaker. He looked like an old, white-haired, frail Human. But Kosh was not of a kind who can be deceived by appearances. Old, indeed – very old. White-haired undoubtedly. But neither frail nor Human.

"They are stubborn." Kosh said.

"It's more than that, and you know it!" The other said waspishly. "They're as capable of building as they are of destroying. As competent in peace as they are in war. There is not one single lever that will bend the whole race. Their only weakness is their greatest strength – and that is their need for freedom. That is what continually tears them apart, and what will always unite them."

"You admire them." Kosh noted.

"And you fear them!" The other told him. "You will try to use them as you do the Minbari, but you won't be able to. You can't control them, and you're too arrogant to approach them as equals."

"Truth." Kosh admitted. "We will pay the price. I have seen this."

"Then change it!" The old one said angrily. "Change your ways. If you can't command, try asking."

"I have urged this." Kosh replied softly, sadly. "But I am one voice against many. We are too old, too set in our ways. We can no longer change. This is our end.

"We are not as your people, TimeLord. I cannot rebel, become an exile, follow my urges. Our bonds are too strong."

The TimeLord accepted this in silence, and they watched the work for a while. For both of them, there was a comfort in the company of a being as old as himself.

Finally, the TimeLord said. "You didn't ask me your question. The one you Vorlons always ask when you meet a new person."

"That is not for me to ask, nor is it a question that requires an answer." Kosh answered. "Someday, you must answer a different question. Silence will fall."

"A different question?" The other asked.

"Yes." Kosh said. "Doctor Who?"

 _The Reichenbach Falls, 1893_

From the Diary of John H Watson MD: The recent death of my wife, Mary, and the exhaustion that was the price of caring for her during her illness, had left me prostrate for some weeks. My misfortunes in Afghanistan, though many years past, had left me with a weakness in my constitution that, while it did not sap me of energy, made it impossible for me to sustain great exertion for long periods. Once recovered enough to travel I had, on the advice of my own doctor, decided to take an extended holiday. A trip around Europe was suggested, and since the success of my practice, and the income I made from the publication of the cases of my late friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, had left me in easy circumstances, I took the idea up.

My first determination had been to avoid this place. But later, I realised that it would be disrespectful to the memory of my greatest friend not to at least visit. So it was that this bright Spring day found me standing upon the very brink, perhaps the very spot, where Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty had closed in their final struggle. Here they had sought to finally settle their long, silent war, and here both had plunged into the abyss.

As I stood there, it seemed that a thousand black thoughts surged up at me from the foaming waters below. My parents were dead, my brother also, my greatest friend lay somewhere below me, and my beloved Mary was no more. I was entirely alone in the world. Adrift, rootless, purposeless. To this day I do not know whether it was an intentional step, or a sudden vertigo brought on by my weakened state. All I know is that I was pulled back from what would have been a fatal plunge by a strong grip on my elbow.

I found myself sitting with my back against the cliff, being handed a cup of hot liquid.

"Drink up!" A firm voice commanded, and I obeyed by reflex. The familiar, homely flavour of strong, sweet tea sent comfort flowing through me.

"I don't normally approve of smoking." The voice went on. "But I think you'd be the better for a cigarette right now."

During the process of lighting an Abdullah, I took the opportunity to observe my saviour, endeavouring, without much success, to use the methods Holmes had so often demonstrated. The man was of the medium height and wiry build. He wore a light brown jacket, white shirt, a muted red tie, light trousers, a red waistcoat and a Panama hat.

Under the hat his hair was dark and curly. His face was rather sharp. He wore a permanent, slightly wry smile that was given the lie by the intensity of his gaze. It was impossible to guess at his age.

"Well, Dr Watson, that was a near miss!" His tones were those of a man of education, with a light Scottish accent. "Good job I was here!"

"Thank you, indeed." I replied with feeling. "But who are you and how do you know me?"

"Oh, Holmes used to talk about you all the time!" He replied airily. "I'm a doctor, too. _The_ Doctor, you might say."

"You knew Holmes?" I asked.

"Our paths crossed once or twice." I was told. "While you were married. He never felt comfortable working without you, you know."

This was something I had not known. Holmes had been wont to say that he was 'lost without his Boswell', but I had assumed the comment to be jocular.

"Well, those days are gone." I pointed out, with a slight return of my black mood.

"True, but there's no need to get all moody about it." The Doctor said sharply. "You're still needed, Dr Watson!"

"By my patients?" I asked with a slight access of bitterness. "Any competent physician…."

"Wouldn't be you!" He snapped. "Those people don't want Dr Watson, biographer of Sherlock Holmes. They want Dr Watson, who always has a kind word for the children, who is patient with irascible elderly relatives. The man who stops by to see a convalescent, just because he's in the area, and doesn't charge for it. The doctor who spots things other doctors miss – Holmes did rub off on you, you know.

"Other doctors could do your job, Watson. But they aren't you, and you're the one your people need!"

The scolding was more refreshing than shaming. I had not realised that the way I behaved might be any different from any other doctor in general practice. The Doctor seemed to note the change, and nodded approvingly.

"Good!" He said, getting to his feet. "I must be getting along. Oh, and one more thing, Dr Watson. Never count a human dead until you've seen the body. And even then, you can make a mistake."

With that cryptic comment, he was gone.

 _The Sonoran Desert_

As usual, things had gotten a little more complicated than MacGyver expected. The drug-smuggling operation the Phoenix Foundation had sent them to bring down had turned out to be a side-line some mad scientist type was using to finance cloning experiments. Crazy enough, but then the guy had run all the way up here to the top of the building and set this device going. Then he'd yelled they were all going to die and jumped out the window. A five-storey fall that left him dead at the bottom.

It had to be some kind of self-destruct, MacGyver knew. Normally, he'd have either tried to get out the door, or rigged a way of getting the three of them out the window and down safely. There were two things against that. One was that the crazy guy seemed to have put the whole place on lock-down, and there were a couple dozen lab techs downstairs as trapped as they were. The other was that this place was full of God knew what kinds of chemicals which nobody wanted floating around in the atmosphere.

So it was defuse this thing, if he could. It was a metal globe a couple feet across, standing on a rod about four feet off the floor. There were some kind of crystals set into it around the circumference. There were thick cables leading from the base to the machines around the room. More led from sockets at the top into the ceiling – must be connected to the solar panels up there on the roof.

One of the cables on the floor led to what looked like a computer. There was no wi-fi, but the thing had a socket. Not a standard USB, but there'd been cables around that fitted, so Mac had jury-rigged a connection to get Riley into the system.

Then he and Jack had tried to examine the bomb. But here was some kind of defence around it. Get within a foot, and you got an electric shock that threw you across the room.

"Great!" Jack said. "Mac, you got forty-four minutes and fifty-eight seconds to figure this out."

"That's kinda precise for you." Mac commented.

Jack pointed at a large screen where red figures were counting down. "That just said forty-five minutes. If it stops, it'll stop at two seconds. Every movie or TV show I ever saw, the bomb countdown stops at two seconds!

"If you can't stop it, can you at least get us out of here?"

Mac shook his head. "Lock's biometric. I could probably fake up a fingerprint, but it needs a retinal scan as well. So unless you wanna climb down there and come back with the guy's eyeball…."

"Eww!" Riley said from the floor where she was sitting.

Then something else happened. A noise – a whirring, groaning noise. A blue flashing light. A cold wind out of nowhere. Then a box appeared in one corner of the room. A big, blue wooden box with a flashing blue light on top and the word 'Police' on it. As they stared, the door opened and a man stepped out.

He was tall, with curly hair and a hawklike face lined with experience. He wore a red velvet jacket over a frilled shirt and spoke in a dry, autocratic and very English accent.

"Angus MacGyver? From the Phoenix Foundation? What are you doing here?"

"We're doin' our job!" Jack interrupted. "Who are you, what are you doin' here and how do you know Mac?"

"I'm the Doctor." The man replied. "I'm here because the TARDIS detected unusual energy and I know Mr MacGyver, and you Mr Dalton, because it's my business to know things. Here!"

He tossed a pass card over to Jack, who examined it. "Dr John Smith, Scientific Advisor." Jack read, "You're with UNIT? Don't they deal with aliens and stuff?"

"Did you think this was Earth technology?" Asked the Doctor, indicating the globe.

"Well…yeah." Mac replied. "What else would it be?"

"I think Dr Smith might be right, Mac!" Riley said urgently.

"Just 'Doctor'." The Doctor told her. "John Smith is a convenient pseudonym."

"Figures." Jack said. "Nobody is actually called John Smith. Outside of a cheap motel register, anyway."

"You speak as one who knows." Remarked the Doctor. "I take it, young lady, that you are trying to break in to the computer system?"

"I was." Riley said. "But it's not gonna happen. This code, these symbols, they're like nothing I've ever seen! I can't get onto the web to find them, and none of the fonts on this are anything like them!"

"May I?" Asked the Doctor. Riley handed him the laptop. "Hm!" He said. "Sontaran!"

"Can you get in?" Riley asked.

"Not without a Sontaran keyboard." He told her. "And even then, I'd need the right passwords. But at least we now know what we're up against."

"Can you defuse this bomb?" Mac asked.

"Bomb?" The Doctor said. "My dear fellow, that is not a bomb. That is a beacon, and it is currently transmitting a signal to a Sontaran ship. Once the ship is within range, they will be able to teleport a force down to secure this facility. The question is, why? What is this place?"

"Some crazy professor was trying to clone humans." Mac told him. "There's a ton of equipment and toxic chemicals downstairs."

"Ah!" The Doctor said. "he must have been in contact with the Sontarans. The entire race reproduces by cloning – it allows them to produce large numbers of troops far more quickly than the usual methods."

"So we need to shut this thing down, fast!" Mac said.

"Too late." The Doctor told him. "They'll be close enough to send troop pods down by now if they can't teleport. We need to scare them off. If we can reconfigure the beacon to reflect the teleport signal rather than boost it, the feedback would be enough to blow their ship up."

"Great," Mac said, "only we can't get near this thing!"

"Defence field." The Doctor said. "I can't short it out, or the beacon will self-destruct. Are there solar panels on the roof? Yes, that's where the power comes from. We'll have to bypass it. As long as the beacon thinks the power is still on, it won't explode.

"There should be some spare cables here, Sontaran quartermasters are very thorough."

They found the cables easily enough, but there were no ladders. In the end, Mac had to balance on Jacks' shoulders while he patched the spare cables into the circuit under the Doctors' guidance.

That done, they approached the globe.

"See the crystals?" The Doctor said. "Half are green and half are yellow. We need to take one of each colour out at a time, and swap them over. There is redundancy in the system, but we can't remove more than two at a time.

The crystals were mounted in metal rings that were secured to the globe by screws. Mac and the Doctor set to work.

"These aliens use screws?" Mac wondered.

The Doctor chuckled. "All species in the Universe that use electrical or mechanical engineering use screws. It's simple and efficient technology, like the wheel and the incandescent bulb."

He was unfastening and fastening the screws with a cylindrical device that emitted a trilling sound.

"What is that thing?" Mac asked.

"Sonic screwdriver." The Doctor told him. "My peoples' equivalent of that Swiss Army knife of yours. And no, you can't have one!"

By the time the job was done, the counter on the wall had less than five minutes to run. The Doctor was looking around when a voice came from a console in the centre of one of the walls.

"Attention Bridgehead!" A stern but rather pompous voice announced. "This is Admiral Stron of the Ninth Sontaran Fleet. We will commence troop landing in three minutes."

The Doctor had dashed over to the console, and now – seeming to know how it worked – he spoke urgently.

"Admiral, this is the Doctor. Your bridgehead is now under the control of the Phoenix Battalion. Any attempt to land troops will be met with force. Your beacon has been sabotaged. An attempt to teleport troops in will destroy your ship. Withdraw immediately or face the consequences."

Strons' reply was immediate. "Our sensors detect neither troops nor weapons at your location, Doctor. Nor does any Earthling have the capacity to sabotage Sontaran military equipment. Your bluff is admirable, but even if your statements were true, their effectiveness would rely on Sontarans fearing death, and we do not. Commencing teleport."

The beacon lit up like a Christmas tree, a steady pulsing that grew rapidly more intense, reaching a blaze that was almost intolerable. Then Strons' voice came again.

"I have underestimated you, Doctor. An excellent stratagem! You have my congra…." Then there was nothing but static.

The beacon went dark. The Doctor turned away from the console, a deep sadness in his face.

"I tried." He said softly. "But at least they got the kind of death every Sontaran dreams of.." Then he became brisk again, going over to the door and using the sonic screwdriver on it. "There! I've unlocked the building. I'll call some of my UNIT friends to come and pick you all up, they'll be here in an hour to get you home and deal with all the alien technology here.

"It's been an honour to work with you, and give my compliments to Matty, will you?"

"Wait!" Jack said. "You know Matty? How…?"

His only reply was the groan and whirr as the blue box faded away.

 _Gamma Gemini Three_

The tall, dark-haired man sat at a picnic table and sipped at a glass of Pimms. His white suit and Panama hat would have been perfectly appropriate for a Cairo hotel in the early to mid-20th Century. Four hundred years later and half a Galaxy away, it would have looked odd, had anyone been able to see him. Below the slight eminence on which he had placed himself, a group of people of various ages and species were carefully excavating the ruins of what seemed to be an ancient villa.

"Bless my soul, Q, what are you doing here?"

There was a subtle shift from lazy relaxation to quiet tension as Q looked round at the man who had suddenly appeared and was now seating himself at the table and helping himself to a drink. A shortish man with a mop of untidy black hair and a puckish face, wearing a baggy black frock coat and loud check trousers.

"I might ask you the same, Doctor." Q said carefully.

"Oh, I knew a chap who used to live here." The Doctor said airily. "Stayed here once or twice. Just wanted to make sure they were treating it respectfully and all that."

"Left something behind, did we?" Q asked.

"I don't _think_ so," the Doctor admitted, "but even if I did, it wouldn't be anything dangerous. Just odd.

"But that doesn't answer _my_ question, does it?"

Q looked down at the dig. "Why are they digging up a house when there is a temple just over the way?" He asked.

"One of dozens, most already excavated." The Doctor told him. "They know everything about ancient Geminian religion. Now they're looking for clues about everyday life."

"And when they find out that it was the same for the Geminians as it was and is for every other intelligent species in the Galaxy?" Q asked. "Will they be disappointed? Or are they just magpies for knowledge?"

"Neither." The Doctor said. "It will just confirm their growing awareness that all life-forms have more in common than they have to divide them. That's really important, and you know it!

"But you're prevaricating, Q. Why are you here?"

The kindly manner was gone, replaced by a flash of white steel. Q considered another evasion, but decided against it. This was, after all, a rogue TimeLord. There was no telling how far he might go if provoked.

"Humans are the most dangerous species in the Galaxy." He said flatly. "They refuse to recognise their limitations, they spread like wildfire and they cause chaos as often as they bring order.

"Down there, working away on that dig, is one of the most dangerous of all. A young StarFleet Lieutenant with three months leave while his ship is being re-fitted. All his fellow officers dashed off to Risa, but he came here. He's clever, perceptive and headstrong. He's going to cause me a lot of trouble, I think."

"You mean young Picard, of course." The Doctor said. "I know all about Jean-Luc Picard. The question in my mind is, will he cause trouble for you, or will you cause it for him? Take my advice, Q, and don't get involved."

"Because _you_ never interfere!" Q snapped.

"Yes, I know I shouldn't!" The Doctor allowed. "But I only do it for good reasons. You're a mischief-maker, you always have been.

"But that's not the point, Q. The more closely you deal with humans, the more you'll come to like and respect them. One day, that may put you in a position of making a choice. A hard choice. Remember what happened the last time your people made that kind of choice? It's ancient history for me, but you were there!"

"Yes, I was." Q said quietly. "I disagreed then, and I still think I was right. Somebody needs to keep an eye on them, Doctor. Not just you, somebody who sees clearly."

"Then for everyones' sake, I hope you keep that clarity!" The Doctor told him.

Down at the site, Lt Picard approached the Chief Archaeologist. "Dr Song?" He said. "I just found this in one of the sleeping rooms. It doesn't look like a Geminian artefact. It looks more like an old Victorian watch-chain from Earth!"

River Song took the object and examined it. It was indeed a Victorian watch-chain. The watch was gone, but the seal was still there, engraved with the unmistakable concentric and intersecting circles of Gallifreyan script. She gave the young man a beaming smile. "That's because that's exactly what it is Jean-Luc!" She told him. "It belongs to me, an old family heirloom. I've been looking for it for ages! I must have dropped it here last season. Thank you so much for finding it, sweetie!"

"You're very welcome." He said, but the shrewd look he gave her indicated that, while he was prepared to accept what she said, he didn't believe a word of it.

 _Oh, you're a clever one!_ River mused. _A girl could do a lot worse!_

She glanced up at the top of the hill. They were gone, now. She wondered what it had been about. It had been hard not to dash over, but it hadn't been _her_ Doctor. _No spoilers!_ She told herself.

 _Williams Residence, Hawaii_

Danny Williams wasn't too sure that he should be playing host this Christmas. Having your ex-wife, current girlfriend and your kids around the table was bad enough, even if they all seemed to get along. Throw in Steve and his girl, Chin, Kono and Adam and Jerry, and almost anything could happen! He'd had to get Steve and Chin to help him move in the large table he'd needed. Thankfully, Lou always had family Christmas – a fact which robbed Grace of her boyfriend, but meant that at least they could all fit into one room.

Before they even sat down, Steve asked. "You expecting someone else, Danny? Only we got one more place than we have people."

"Danno always does that at the Holidays." Grace told him.

"Williams family tradition." Danny said. "In case someone arrives."

"Someone who?" Asked Chin.

"You'll find out if he does." Danny was never quite sure if he believed it, but his father had always followed the custom, so had his grandfather. His great-grandparents had been very insistent on it, and Great-Grandma Amy was not someone you argued with!

Then, just as they were about to start, there was a knock at the door. Danny got up and went to answer, an irascible comment ready on his lips. A comment that never got made.

 _He looks just the way she told us he would_. Was all he could think as he looked the man up and down. Tall, gangly, slightly awkward. Lank brown hair falling over a high forehead, pointed chin, deep-set eyes. Old, sad eyes in a young, smiling face.

"Is this a Williams house?" He asked.

"Yes." Danny told him. "I'm Danny. Come on in, we're just starting."

"There's a place for me?" The man asked, half-unbelieving.

"There's always a place for you." Danny told him.

"We got another guest," he announced as they entered the room, "old family friend. Just call him 'Doctor'."

They ate, they talked, they laughed. The Doctor was friendly and funny, and got on particularly well with little Charlie. But Danny noticed that both Steve and Jerry were giving the unexpected guest long looks from time to time. He hoped they'd both restrain themselves until later.

After the meal, while the others were helping Charlie get used to his new Xbox, Jerry cornered Steve.

"You have to know who that guy is!" Five-Os' resident geek insisted. "I've seen your record. You were seconded to UNIT for a year. The Doctor's a legend there!"

"Yeah, I know." Steve said. "So does Danny, I guess. What's the problem, Jer?"

"What's he doing here, now?" Jerry wanted to know. "The Doctor doesn't just show up for the Holiday meal! Something must be happening. An alien invasion, some AI going berserk, the Moon exploding…something!"

"Maybe, maybe not." Steve said. "Maybe he just gets lonely on Christmas. It happens. He has feelings like the rest of us. If it makes you feel any better, I'll talk to him. You just stay quiet."

Steve found the Doctor alone on the verandah, looking out toward the sea.

"This is a really beautiful place." He remarked as Steve came up beside him.

"Tell Danny that." Steve replied. "He tries, but he still doesn't like it here, not really. He only came here because of Grace."

"Family is important, especially to a Williams." The Doctor said sadly, then. "You know who I am, don't you?"

"I used to be a Navy SEAL." Steve told him. "I got seconded to UNIT for a while. You were part of the orientation."

"Good old Kate!" The Doctor said. "Don't want too many shocks for the troops!"

"That's what she said." Steve allowed. "So, I have to ask. Why are you here?"

"For Christmas dinner." The Doctor said simply. "This is as close as I can come without breaking the rules. I'm not anywhere else with them today."

"With who?" Steve asked.

"My great-grandparents." This was Danny, who had come up quietly. "Great-Grandma Amy and Great-Grandpa Rory used to travel with the Doctor. But something happened and they got stranded in New York. They adopted my grandfather, and it went on from there. They used to say that the Doctor and Aunt River weren't allowed to see _them_ anymore, but that _we_ were always to keep a spare place at Christmas dinner, just in case."

"Who's Aunt River?" Steve wanted to know.

"Amy and Rorys' natural daughter." The Doctor said. "My wife."

"So you're actually family?" Steve said.

"Sort of." The Doctor said. "It's complicated."

"No it's not!" Steve said firmly. "You're family to Danny, and that makes you _'ohana_ to me and the rest of us. It means there's always a place for you here."

"That sounds nice." The Doctor said. "But I have to go somewhere else, soon, and I won't be back."

"Go where?" Danny asked.

"Trenzalore." The Doctor said, then went back inside.

 _Holy Terra_

The Emperor of Humanity had sought a moment alone, because he was still a man, not the god people tried to make him. But it was hard to get away from the fighting. The heart of his Imperium was under siege from his own son, his own Warmaster, and there was only one way this would end.

Rogal and Sanguinius were doing all they could, and he could feel his other loyal sons – Leman, Roboute and the others, all trying to get here in time. They wouldn't, the Warp Storm would make sure of that. Today was his final day. The beginning of the end.

"So this is what it comes to, in the end." Someone said behind him. A man came up beside him. Tall, thin, a mop of curly hair under a wide-brimmed hat, protuberant blue eyes, a long coat and even longer scarf. "Any regrets, En Sabah Nur?"

"A few, Doctor." The Emperor replied. "I haven't always gone about it the right way, have I? I know you can't intervene, this is a fixed point, but it's good of you to come, old friend."

"I thought you might want to talk, man to man." The Doctor said. "We haven't always seen eye-to-eye, but we've always respected each other."

"I always sought out the strong, to make them stronger." The Emperor said. "You show the weak how to find their strength. I think you've won the argument. I created the strongest of the strong; my sons, my Primarchs, to be rulers, guides and examples. Now the best of them has turned against me.

"I should have taken your advice, Doctor. Had fewer sons and kept them closer to me."

"You should have married and had a couple of daughters as well." The Doctor told him. "You always underestimated the power of a female influence."

"Says the Galaxys' most confirmed bachelor!" The Emperor snorted. "But you're right. I could have had a real family. Grandchildren round my knees and a chair by the fire."

"A pipe." The Doctor added.

"And tartan slippers!" The Emperor finished, and they both laughed. "Is this the end, then?" He asked. "They used to call me Apocalypse. Have I finally brought it about, Doctor?"

"Not the end, no." The Doctor told him. "There are dark times ahead, but the thing about darkness is that all it can ever do is come before the light, not after."

"Will humanity survive?" The Emperor asked.

"Perhaps. I'd say probably." The Doctor said. "You're a tough and unpredictable race. The Eldar are still there, and there are the Tau as well. Even the Orks have some good in them. They'll learn."

"You'll be there, to watch over them?" The tone was almost pleading.

"For as long as I can." The Doctor promised. "But you won't die just yet, En Sabah Nur. We'll see each other again, I think."

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Minerva McGonagall had taken The Letter out again. The letter of resignation she'd drafted the day after the Ministry had named Severus Snape as Headmaster. She'd decided then that she owed it to the school, the students and the memory of Albus Dumbledore to stay on and do what she could to keep the true ethos of the school intact.

But it had been hard, so hard. Snape himself seemed somehow supine. Unwilling or unable to halt the increasing domination, indoctrination and cruelty of the Carrows, he spent most of his time alone in his study. Students had been punished severely enough to have to be sent home. Others had been summarily expelled and their wands destroyed. Some had been withdrawn by their parents who had taken them and fled the country. Others had simply…disappeared. Among the latter were Ginevra Weasley and Neville Longbottom, and the acts of sabotage and subversion that had come hard on the heels of this led Minerva to believe that some students at least were organised and active.

Minerva knew that it was only a matter of time before her patience was exhausted. She would, she knew, strike out eventually. She was a formidable and powerful witch, but she was no longer young, and such an act could have only one ending – a futile one. The only friends she could trust completely were muggles, and while Simon, Illya and James would come to her aid at a word, she didn't want to see this end in a hail of muggle gunfire. While she doubted even Voldemorts' ability to stand face-to-face with James Bond and survive, this was a matter for wizards to handle.

With a sigh, she picked up her quill and dipped it in the inkwell. Enough was enough.

"Don't."

It was a voice she had not heard in decades, but she knew it at once. She dropped the quill and rose to face him. Tallish, thin, wearing a long brown coat over a suit and plimsolls; a sharply handsome face and slicked-back hair. She couldn't help herself, she flung herself at him and hugged him hard, feeling more than comforted by his answering hug.

"Doctor!" She cried. "I thought I wouldn't see you again!"

"So did I." He replied. "But the TARDIS is a funny old girl. She has a habit of taking me where I need to be. Things are pretty bad, aren't they?"

"How do you know?" She asked.

"Because this entire castle is surrounded by UNIT troops." He told her. "There are wizards who work for UNIT, and they know all about Mr Riddle and his little plan for world domination. If you resign, and leave the school, they'll know. The fact that you're still here, still doing what you can, is the only thing stopping them from moving in and taking over. Not just Hogwarts, but your whole world!"

"Perhaps that wouldn't be a bad thing." She mused. "I have often wondered if our self-imposed exile was at the heart of our troubles."

"Maybe, maybe not." He answered. "But this isn't the way to end it. The rest of the human race isn't ready yet, not by a long way. Nor are wizards. There are things and people out there…. Not just UNIT or SHIELD, but Sanctuary, HYDRA, AIM, Dr Doom, the Brotherhood, Charles Xavier, the Hellfire Club. Not all good, not all bad, but they'd all want a piece of you. Wizards need to meet the world in their own way, in their own time.

"Now listen! I know something they don't. Harry Potter and his friends arrived in Hogsmeade less than an hour ago. They're on their way here. It all comes to a head tonight, you understand? For both Harry and Voldemort it has to end where it started, here at Hogwarts.

"You have to be ready, Minerva. You have to be outside the Ravenclaw Common Room in two hours' time, or everything will go wrong!"

"All right." She said. "Are you staying to help?"

"I can't, sorry." He said ruefully. "All I can do is help the UNIT troops to stop anything else interfering once it all starts. There are… _things_ …out there that will see this as an opportunity and we have to keep them away until it's all over.

"One more thing, Minerva. The next time I see you, I won't remember this conversation, because it won't have happened yet for me. It's…."

"I know!" She told him. "Timey-wimey stuff!"

He gave her that unmistakable grin, then hugged her again.

"Get along with you!" She told him. "We've both got things to do!"

He let himself down from the window and she watched him lope off across the lawn into the woods. She went to the door, stopped, came back to her desk, picked up the letter and tore it to shreds.

 _Castle Caladan_

Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam had not been nervous for so many years she almost didn't recognise the sensation. At first she put it down to irritation. Irritation at space travel, at the bland impenetrability of Guild staff and the unseen but oppressive presence of the Navigators. Then annoyance at being sent half-way across the Galaxy on a fools' errand. Lastly, anger at Jessica for doing this, for producing the wrong child and throwing all the Sisterhoods' plans over the centuries into chaos.

Finally, though, she admitted to herself that she was nervous. Nervous about tomorrow. Nervous about what might happen if the boy failed the test – that would destroy Jessica, she knew, and that tore at her own heart, despite her training. There were worse possibilities. There was a reason why males were rarely tested with the _gom jabbar_. Their reaction to pain was unpredictable, and an explosion into spontaneous Berserker mode, even in a teenage boy, might prove fatal to her.

Then, of course, there was the possibility – more real than she wanted to think -that the boy might pass the test. That opened a hornets' nest of possibilities beyond the assessment of Mentats or even Guild Navigators.

"So they sent you, did they?" Male voice, odd accent. She spun. _How could he have got in here?_ Tall, thin, dark jacket and trousers, white shirt, sturdy walking shoes. A shock of grey hair, a sharp, heavily-lined face, massive eyebrows and the fierce stare of a bird of prey.

"Do not move!" The Voice was essential at this point. She was no longer young, and not as quick as she had been.

The man threw back his head and laughed. "You actually tried that? On _me_?" He laughed again, then snapped. "Sit down!"

The tone carried absolute command, absolute authority, bypassing her will and speaking directly to the reptile brain. She dropped down onto the bed without the time to think.

"Bene Gesserit!" He shook his head. "You don't change, do you? Yes, I know who you are, Gaius Helen Mohiam, or Tanidia Nerus, if you prefer. Do you know who I am?"

Shocked by his casual reference to a secret buried in the archives of Wallach IX, she was open to the moment, to _adab_ , the demanding memory that comes of itself. It was impossible, but…

"The Doctor," she breathed, "you are the Doctor. The Great Enemy."

"I'm not your enemy!" He growled. "I'm the enemy of foolishness, of waste, of self-serving and self-destructive stupidity!"

"You have destroyed worlds!" She snapped.

"No." He told her sadly. "Others did that. I tried to stop them. I presented alternatives, it's what I do. If they didn't listen, if they made the wrong choice, all it means is that I failed, I didn't do enough. But I keep trying, I'm the Doctor. A man in a box, trying to help."

"And are you here to help me?" She asked bitterly.

"To present alternatives, yes." He said. "In a few hours, you're going to sit in a room and torture your grandson while holding a poison needle to his neck. You call it a test, and your heart wants him to pass while your head wants him to fail. But he'll pass."

"You've seen this?" She asked.

"I didn't have to!" He told her. "I know who this boy is! I know his ancestry better than you do. And I know you think he should never have been born!"

"His mother was instructed only to bear girls." Mohiam admitted. "We needed a female heir to marry to the Harkonnen boy and end the feud."

"And produce your Kwisatz Haderach, of course!" The Doctor snorted. "Leaving aside the fact that Duke Leto would rather kill a daughter with his own hands than marry her to a Harkonnen, you knew that a boy might well be what you've been trying to produce all these centuries. But you don't want him to be an Atreides, do you?

"The Harkonnens are ambitious, amoral, not quite bright and so easily controlled. The Atreides, though…they're different. They have an inbuilt sense of right and wrong. You can persuade them, but only to a point. There's a line they won't cross, and that wouldn't suit the Sisterhood, would it?

"Now here's your choice, Reverend Mother. Test the boy – he'll pass. Then go back to Wallach and tell your sisters that he has a flaw, that his genes are bad. Tell them that they should make the Emperor leave the Atreides on Caladan and take over Arrakis himself. The Harkonnens will fight among themselves until none are left, and Paul will live out his life as Duke of Caladan."

"And if I do not take your advice?" She asked.

"Then within a few years, Paul-Muad'Dib Atreides will be Emperor." The Doctor told her. "And within a few years of that, his son will be God-Emperor. And after that, chaos, destruction and war until the real Emperor takes power."

"The real Emperor?" She asked.

"Your Kwisatz Haderach." He said. "He was born on Earth millennia ago. Now he's somewhere out in the Galaxy, exploring and learning. One day, he'll come back to claim his throne. That's a fixed point, and nothing you can do will change it. Your decision today will determine whether he will be accepted by a civilised, united humanity, or confronted by a mass of quarrelling barbarians. Do you want war for the future, or peace?"

He turned and left. A few moments later a whirring, groaning sound announced his departure.

The Reverend Mother brooded. He had been persuasive, of course he had, he was the Great Enemy. But the Sisterhood had trained her well. There would be a Bene Gesserit on the throne, a Kwisatz Haderach under their control – this Paul or another, it made no difference. This was the path that Jehanne Butler had set them on when she freed humanity from the machines. That was what would bring peace. And if the 'real' Emperor he spoke of existed, well, the Sisterhood would find a way to bend him, too.

It was only years later, as the executioners placed the garrotte around her neck, that she wondered if she might have been mistaken.

 _The Kelonian Forest (Hyborian Age)_

The strange warriors had come out of nowhere, appearing unhurriedly from among the trees and advancing on Conans' small band. Tiki the Bowman had loosed one shot, which had clattered off the odd armour they wore. The warrior he had shot at raised a device that hung at his waist. The thing emitted a bright light and a weird metallic sound. Tiki fell as if stuck by a thunderbolt, his body smoking.

The others closed with Conans' men. They bore no blades, but did not seem to need them. Their odd, ornate breastplates and steel caps, with a lantern on top, seemed able to turn any blade, and a single blow from one of them was enough to send even a seasoned warrior down.

Not that this was going to stop Conan. The giant Cimmerian had no thought of surrender, and he was going to take at least one of them with him! He had noticed that although they wore arm greaves, they had no gauntlets. He also saw that instead of visors, they wore white masks of some kind. Two weak points, then.

His first cut took off the hand of the one approaching him. Instead of the spurt of blood he expected, there was a trickle of dark fluid which stopped almost at once. The creature glanced at the wound, almost with disinterest, and continued to close. Conan stepped back and prepared to stab at the mouth-slot in the mask, but there was a blow on the back of his head and he knew no more.

It was the pain in his wrists and arms that woke him. He was hanging by them. With a grunt, he got his legs under him and stood, looking around. This was like no dungeon he had ever seen. Brightly-lit, dry and clean. A square room with metal floors, walls and ceiling. The light came from glowing squares set into the ceiling.

"So, you are alive, Cimmerian." Said a familiar voice. "I guessed that your head might be as hard as mine!"

Conan looked round and saw, secured to the wall on his left, the hulking figure of Cerdic Ironfist. The big, red-bearded Northerner, who took his name from the heavy iron hammer he wielded in battle, seemed to be secured to the wall by shackles that clamped directly onto it. A glance showed Conan that he was shackled in the same way.

"Where are the others?" He asked.

Cerdic shook his head. "Dead, I think. When I woke here there were only the three of us, and he.." he nodded to the wall opposite him, "..isn't one of ours."

Conan looked. Hanging, apparently unconscious, from another set of fetters was a small, slight figure. He was oddly dressed in a long white coat and white pantaloons, with some kind of woollen jerkin beneath and a white shirt. His face could not be seen, but his hair was blond.

"Who, or what, are these things, Captain?" Cedric asked. "Are they men? Or are they Golems?"

"Their hands are human, at least." Conan stated. "I sliced one off one of them, but he didn't seem to care."

"I smashed one of their breastplates." Cerdic said. "All sparks and smoke, but then _something_ came down the shaft of my hammer and threw me against a tree. That's how they got me."

He sighed. "Well, so ends our quest for the Silver City. It seemed like a good notion at the time. Wonder where we are?"

"In the Silver City, a prisoner of the owners." Said a new voice.

Conan turned. "I wondered how long you were going to keep it up." He said. "People breathe differently when they're awake, and I could hear it. Why pretend?"

"I needed information." The man said. His face was boyishly handsome, but the eyes were fiercely intelligent. "If I'd been 'awake', you'd have been busy questioning me and I wouldn't have known enough about you to decide how to answer.

"Who are you?"

"Conan of Cimmeria." Conan told him. "This is Cerdic Ironfist. We are – or were – part of a band of adventurers looking for treasure. Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor." The man replied, as if that explained everything.

"Are you a sorceror?" Cerdic asked nervously. "You have that air, and your garments…."

"No." Conan said. "A Loremaster, perhaps, but no sorceror, else you had already escaped."

The Doctor shook his head. "I'm not a sorceror, well, not in any way you would recognise. As for escaping, not yet. I need to know what our hosts…"

He was interrupted as a panel in the wall opposite Conan slid backwards a few inches, then slid to one side. Three of the creatures entered and went over to Cerdic. One of then opened its mouth and began to speak. Its mouth did not move as it spoke, and the voice was high-pitched, with a strange hum in the background. The inflections and pauses in the speech were odd.

"Beegin. With this one." It said. "Take him now."

It produced something from the pouch at its side and pointed it at Cerdic. The fetters retracted into the wall, but before the big man could charge, the other two creatures had him. He struggled mightily, but was no match for them as they dragged him off

"Kill one for me, Conan!" he bellowed as they left the room.

The remaining creature ignored Conan and went over to the Doctor. It pointed his device at him. This time it gave out a weird warbling sound.

"You." It said. "Are not _Hu_ man. You. Have two hearts. Your brain. And nervous system. Are ev-olved. What _. Are_ you?"

"I'm the Doctor." Was the reply. "And you're a Cyberman. A very primitive Mondasian Cyberman. What are you doing here?"

"You know. Of us?" The Cyberman asked.

"I've met your kind before." The Doctor said. "In my past, which is your future. You're going to fail, you know. Every time."

"That. Is illogical." The Cyberman answered. "Your past. Can-not be. My _fu_ -ture."

"Oh, not you _personally_." The Doctor allowed. "Just Cybermen generally. I'm a time-traveller, you see."

"Im-possible." Declared the Cyberman. "These others. Will be brain-scanned. To locate more _Hu_ mans. Then they. Will be cy-ber-nised. You. Can-not be. Cy-ber-nised. Your brain. Will be scanned. For use-ful _know_ -ledge. Then. You will be _. Di_ -ssect-ed."

It turned away from him and approached Conan. " _You_. Are strong." It said. "And intel-ligent. You will be cy-ber-nised."

Then Conans' legs were around its neck. The thing was incredibly powerful, but it was taken by surprise, and the Cimmerian was as agile as he was strong. He had to twist his entire body, but he managed to snap its neck. The Cyberman made an odd rattling sound and collapsed at his feet.

"Well done!" The Doctor said. "But now we have to get ourselves out of here."

"That talisman it used." Conan said, using one foot to remove the boot from the other. "It's some kind of key, yes?"

"It does control these shackles." The Doctor allowed. "Can you get it?"

"I trained as a thief as well as a fighter." Conan told him, gripping the small device with his toes. "That requires some flexibility."

Quite how he managed, the Doctor was never sure, though he'd seen Yoga masters perform similar feats. However it was, the device was soon in the Cimmerians' hand.

"Point the narrow end at me and press the large white button." The Doctor instructed. Conan did so and the Doctor was free. He came over at once to release the Cimmerian, and while Conan was putting his boot back on, the Doctor examined the fallen Cyberman.

"Is it dead?" Conan asked.

"Not really." The Doctor told him. "The control and communication systems are in the head, but the power comes from the chest unit – the breastplate. You broke the connection, so he's paralysed."

"He?" Conan asked. "It is a man?"

"It was a man, once." The Doctor told him. "Or perhaps a woman. Once the conversion is complete, there's no longer a difference."

"What do you mean?" Conan wanted to know.

"The Cybermen are cyborgs." The Doctor explained. "Part human, part machine. The process is supposed to make them stronger, but it also removes their feelings, everything that makes them human."

"What kind of sorcery can do that?" Conan was amazed and disturbed.

"Not sorcery." The Doctor told him. "Science. Not rituals or chants, not summoning demons. Just centuries of study, of accumulated knowledge about the world, of the refinement of craft. Smithying becomes engineering, alchemy becomes chemistry, healing becomes medicine. But it can go wrong, sometimes."

"Clearly." Conan allowed. "Where do they come from?"

"Far away." The Doctor stated. "A place called Mondas."

"Another world?" Conan asked. "Oh, don't look surprised, Doctor! I've spoken with wise men, sky-watchers in Aquilonia and Nemedia. They say the world is a globe that spins around the Sun, and that the other stars are suns with worlds that spin around them. It would not be strange if there were men on these other worlds, either like or unlike ourselves."

"So much for dim-witted barbarians." The Doctor said wryly.

"Compared to you, that's just what I am!" Conan noted. "This Cyberman said you had an 'evolved' brain as well as an extra heart. I don't know what 'evolved' means, but I guess it more or less means 'improved'?"

"Something like that." The Doctor agreed. "My people are older than yours, and we've grown over time, as you will."

"I like the sound of that!" Conan allowed. "Men are, for the most part, weak and stupid in this age. If we become stronger and cleverer, the world will be a better place, even if I do not live to see it.

"But for now, how do we defeat these Cybermen?"

"That shouldn't be too hard." The Doctor said. "These Cybermen are primitive, compared to later models. They run on batteries, so they'll need to recharge from an external power-source. All we have to do is find it."

"And then?" Conan asked.

"Then we blow it up, along with this city and hopefully all of the Cybermen." The Doctor replied. "Luckily, I have a way to get us out of here before the explosion.

""Come on, Conan of Cimmeria. Time to save the world!"

 _Lancre_

Granny Weatherwax had heard the sound outside, so she put the kettle back on and got out an extra cup and some of the better biscuits. Then a few moments later, she answered the knock and looked him up and down. The long green coat looked a little more worn, as did the high boots. The neck-cloth, once so neatly tied, was loosely fastened with a careless knot. The hair was lank, and the face sadder and more lined than she had ever seen it.

"You look like you could do with a sit-down." She said by way of greeting.

She took him into the kitchen. The parlour was for work, and the furniture in there had a close family relationship with some of the more interesting devices in the Patricians' dungeon in Ankh-Morpork The idea being that people would say anything, do anything and accept any instructions in order to get out of it quickly. It was all very well for Magrat to go on about talking to people and 'empathising' with them, but Granny held the view that doing beat talking any time.

A cup of strong tea and a couple of Gythas' biscuits – well, Gythas' daughter-in-laws' biscuits, actually – later, he was looking a bit better. Granny was never sure if he actually needed to eat and drink, but comfort was comfort, and he needed it.

"So it's started." She said. "That war you talked about?"

He nodded. "I couldn't stop it." He told her. "It's all my fault."

"Rubbish!" She told him sharply. "You told me about them Daleks. They don't like anybody, they would've come for your people, whatever you did or didn't do."

"If I hadn't interfered, broken the law," he said, "they'd never have known about us!"

"If they're as clever as you said," she replied, "they'd've found out sooner or later. Ain't your fault, Doctor, it's your peoples' fault!"

"My people decided long ago never to interfere, to keep themselves to themselves." He reminded her.

"That's all very well and good, for ordinary folk." She allowed. "But TimeLords ain't ordinary! I ain't ordinary, Gytha ain't ordinary. Magrat's a wet hen, but she ain't an ordinary wet hen!

"I don't much like people, Doctor, you know that. Most of 'em are soft in the head and ready to believe all sorts of nonsense. But when kids is sick, or folk are bad and can't work, somebody has to do the needful. Somebody that can.

"You do the same, always have done, all the years I've known you and for longer than that, if I'm any judge."

"But what have I done? Really?" The Doctor asked. "There are people out there who call me a saint, an angel. But there are also ones who call me a murderer, a being of evil!"

"It ain't about good and evil." Granny told him. "Good and evil's different for different folk. Vampires don't see good and evil like people do -if they did, they'd starve. Them Omnians, they've got great big lists of what's good and evil, but poor folks in Ankh-Morpork reckon good is whatever gets you through the day.

"You and me, Doctor, we know right from wrong. We do what's right, even when other people don't agree and don't like it. Them Daleks, whatever they believe in, what they do is wrong. Your TimeLords did wrong by locking themselves away when there was folk needing help – help they could have given. Now they've had to come out, and everything's gone wrong."

"So what do I do, now?" He asked. "Fight, run, or just carry on?"

"You'll do what's right, same as you always have." Granny said. "I can't tell you what, but you'll know when you see it."

They had another cup of tea and some more biscuits. They talked of inconsequential things. Then the Doctor said he had to go.

"One thing," Granny said, "before you go. The Daleks. Will they come here?"

"To the Discworld?" The Doctor said. "Not intentionally, no. This place has different rules, Esme. To find it you have to be able to imagine it. The Daleks don't have imagination.

"Even if they did come here, they wouldn't be as powerful here as they are everywhere else. The Discworld would change them. Make them part of itself. They'd still be dangerous, but they wouldn't be able to conquer this world. It wouldn't let them."

"Fair enough." She said. "I've enough to be getting on with here. I couldn't be doing with alien invasions!"

 _Haven, Frostback Mountains_

Lelianas' time in the cloisters, and her Bard training, allowed her a certain stillness in times of stress. Something which Cassandras' Seeker training apparently did not. The Nevarran noblewoman fidgeted whenever she sat, but more usually got up and paced around, hand clenching and unclenching on her sword hilt.

Another fruitless session of interrogation with Varric Tethras had not helped. The Dwarf merchant and author had been as affable as ever, seeming not to resent his prisoner status. He had told them a great deal about the events at Kirkwall and the roots of the Mage Rebellion. But on the main question – the whereabouts of his friend Hawke, so-called Champion of Kirkwall – he remained firmly silent. Not evasive, not untruthful, just silent.

"Why will he not understand?" Cassandra raged. "If we are to set up an Inquisition, it must have a leader! Hawke is a hero, known and respected throughout Thedas. We need him!"

"Perhaps." Leliana said soothingly. "But it may yet be unnecessary, Cassandra. If the Conclave succeeds…."

"There will still be apostate mages and rogue Templars out there!" Cassandra snapped. "Even if their leaders agree a peace, not all will follow. Can we – should we – ask either Mages or Templars to hunt down their own kind? Worse, have Templars continue to hunt down apostates and imperil any fragile peace the Divine can broker?"

"You are saying that we – the Inquisition – as a separate body beholden to neither side, should be the ones to clean up the mess?" Leliana asked.

"That was the purpose of the original Inquisition." Cassandra responded. "That has not changed. But without a leader – an Inquisitor – we will stand little chance of success. You know this Leliana, better than I. You were beside the Hero of Ferelden in the last Blight."

That hurt, though Cassandra had not intended it to. Few people knew that the Hero of Ferelden – the Grey Warden Cormac Cousland – had been and still was the love of Lelianas' life. He was far away now, seeking a cure for the Calling – the Darkspawn sickness that forced all Grey Wardens, sooner or later, to return to the Deep Roads, seeking death before corruption overtook them.

Leliana would very much have liked one or two of her friends from those days to be with her now, but after the Blight, they had scattered. Hendel, the Dwarf Grey Warden, had sacrificed his life to strike down the Archdemon. Of the other Grey Wardens, Alistair was now King of Ferelden, Elana had returned to her tribe among the Dalish and the mysterious Killian Jones had returned to his 'Empire of America'. Morrigan had vanished about her own dark business. Wynne had gone on a journey with the Golem, Shale, attempting to recover memories of Shales' life as a Dwarf. The Elven assassin, Zevran, had vanished as completely as Morrigan.

She shook her head to clear it. Cassandra was still pacing.

"It's not the lack of a leader for our Inquisition that's bothering you, is it?" Leliana asked. "It's what might be happening up there." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the Temple of Sacred Ashes that stood in the mountains above Haven. "You think we should be with Divine Justinia?"

"Who knows what she will face up there?" Cassandra demanded. "It is not beyond an apostate mage or even a fanatical Templar to try to assassinate her. There are those on both sides who blame the Divine for the Rebellion."

"Then we, as her Right and Left Hands, would also be targets." Leliana said. "If we fell beside her, who would be left to exact justice?"

Cassandra sighed. "You are right." She allowed. "But inactivity chafes me, when there are things to be done…. What?"

There was a commotion outside. Cullens's voice was raised. "Hold him!"

Another voice, unfamiliar. "Let me by! I have a message from the Divine!"

Cassandra flung open the door as Leliana joined her. Two soldiers were attempting, with limited success, to restrain a stocky figure in a brightly-coloured coat. It would, in other circumstances, have been amusing. The soldiers were clearly reluctant to draw their weapons against an unarmed man, whilst the other was obviously powerful enough to deal with both of them easily, but seemed unwilling to hurt them.

"Let him go!" Leliana snapped.

"He may be an assassin!" Cullen protested.

"Then why approach so openly?" Cassandra pointed out. "Sister Leliana and I are more than capable of defending ourselves, Commander."

"As you wish, Lady Cassandra." Cullen shrugged. "Leave him."

The soldiers, with some relief, released their grip on the stranger, who grinned amiably at them both while dusting himself off. Then he turned to Cassandra. "Lady Cassandra Pentaghast? I have a message for you and Sister Leliana from the Most Holy. May we speak privately?"

Leliana seated herself again as Cassandra closed the door, then they took stock of their visitor. He seemed Human, too tall for a Dwarf, despite his stocky build, and by the same token, too sturdy for an Elf. Definitely not Qunari. His long, multi-coloured coat, red waistcoat and yellow and black striped pantaloons, along with the flowing green and white neckcloth, might have indicated a more than usually eccentric Mage, but he carried no staff. He had a mass of curly fair hair and a squarish face with an apparently habitual, slightly superior, smile.

"Who are you?" Cassandra asked bluntly.

"I'm the Doctor." He said. That meant nothing to either of them, a fact which seemingly bothered their visitor not a whit.

"You look more like a jester." Cassandra told him, but his smile just widened a little.

"Do you come from the Empire of America?" Leliana wanted to know.

This time, his eyes widened. "The Empire of…?" He frowned now. "Where did that come from?"

"Many years ago, a man in strange clothing appeared somewhere he had no business being." Leliana told him. "His name was Captain Killian Jones, and he claimed to come from the Empire of America. I wondered if you also came from there."

"No, I come from Gallifrey." The Doctor replied. "Killian Jones, eh? Captain Hook, they used to call him."

"He did have a hook in place of his left hand." Leliana said. "You know him?"

"I know of him – we never actually met." The Doctor said. "I wonder how he got here from Storybrooke?

"Never mind. You won't know of me. Only the Divine, the First Enchanter, the Lord Seeker and the Constable of the Grey Wardens are supposed to. And Red Jenny, of course. Justinia sent for me a short while ago, just before the Conclave went into session. She said she'd been approached by a Mage who told her that something was happening in the Fade that boded no good. She asked me to warn you two to be ready, and to give you this – she said you'd need it sooner than you thought."

He produced a large book from a capacious pocket and put it on the desk in front of Leliana, who gasped.

"This is Most Holys' writ?" She exclaimed. "The document that instructs us to form an Inquisition! This was at my home! How? How could you have gone from the Temple, to my home, and brought it here to Haven in so short a time?"

"Time, that's the thing." The Doctor said. "It's not the same for all of us.

"Now look, I can't stay, places to be. But something big is going to happen, and you two will be right in the middle of it. I'd say be careful, but you can't always do that, Just be true to yourselves!"

Then he simply turned round and left. A few moments later, the Temple of Sacred Ashes was the centre of a huge explosion.

 _In the Dream of a Warrior_

Kratos understood now that he travelled within his own mind. Not usually a man given to introspection or analysis, he was nevertheless no fool. The trails of blood and flickering lights he had been following were, he realised, emblematic of his life. A mixture of violence and a search for….For what? Something else. Something better and more meaningful than constant battle.

Yet here, in this dream-world, he had encountered fear for the first time in decades. He had faced and defeated men, monsters, Heroes, Gods and Titans. He mastered both the Furies and the Fates. But nothing compared to the raw, black fear he had experienced in coming face-to-face with the images of his family. Lysandra and Calliope had been waiting for him here since their deaths at his unknowing hand, so long ago. He had, he realised, never dared to face this part of himself, the blackest of his many dark deeds. He had been prepared for recrimination and rejection, but had met acceptance and love. If these two could forgive him, then he could finally forgive himself!

Then he had followed. Followed the blue-white light and the calling voice of Pandora. Pandora, the girl-woman created by Hephaistos to quench the Flame of Olympus. Pandora, who Kratos had come to care for. Who had talked to him, and still did, of hope. Hope – something Kratos had abandoned long ago.

But the light ahead of him was different. The familiar orange-yellow glow of a camp-fire. He approached slowly, aware that he was unarmed.

A man was seated by the fire, staring into it. He was wearing an old coat or cloak of leather. The firelight illuminated a craggy, lined face, white-bearded, white-haired. He looked up at Kratos, the measuring gaze of one warrior who meets another outside of battle.

"Come and sit, my boy." He said - gravelly voice, but educated accent.

"I do not have time to sit." Kratos declared.

The old man laughed. "Of course you don't! Nobody has time here, there is no time in this place. I should know!

"Sit, boy. Be assured that you will arrive wherever you are going in plenty of time to do what you have to do, as will I!"

The mans' absolute sincerity was clear. Kratos sat, and they measured each other in silence for a while. Then.

"How can you be in my mind?" Kratos asked. "I have never seen you, nor anyone like you."

"I couldn't be." The other said. "And for all your intelligence, you could not survive being in mine.

"The answer, of course, is that we are not in your mind, nor in mine. We are both dreaming, boy. When we dream, we come here, to this place. Some call it the Land of Shallow Dream, as opposed to the true Dreamlands. Others call it the Never-Never, yet others the Fade.

"When we come here, we shape a part of it to suit our needs or mood. The stronger our will, the better we shape it. But there are others here. Spirits, you would call them. Some are benign, others less so. But they can take the shape of things, people, to communicate with us. Perhaps from curiosity, perhaps benevolence, or often merely to trap your spirit and replace it with their own, so they can leave here and enter the material world.

"Are you a spirit, boy?"

"I am Kratos of Sparta, and no spirit!" The Spartan replied. "What of you, old man? Tell me your name."

"Well, well, the Ghost of Sparta!" The old man laughed. "Of all the people to encounter here, at this time. Appropriate, I suppose.

"As for my name, I had one once. But I gave up any right to that name when I made a choice. Now I am just a warrior, as you are."

"One who has seen many more battles than I, I think." Kratos said.

"The number doesn't matter." The Warrior told him. "It is what you fight for that's important. What do you fight for, Spartan?"

Kratos gazed into the fire. "I am no longer sure." He said slowly. "Even a short time ago, I would have said 'vengeance', and that would have been enough. But now, I have seen the corruption at the heart of Olympus. I have seen how the quest for power and vengeance has broken the Titans.

"My acts have brought chaos to the Earth, but the world existed before the Olympians with order, and without them, it may well bring forth order again, eventually. Now I begin to see myself as a cleanser. Perhaps by ridding the world of its corrupt gods, I will give men a chance to find their own answers.

"But there is something else, something missing. When I find what it is, I will know what to do." He looked up. "Until this moment, I had not considered my actions so deeply. Thank you, old man. Is that why you are here?"

"Perhaps." Said the Warrior softly. "But perhaps we meet here because we both need something from the other.

"I have been fighting a long time, in a war between my own people and a race far more evil than your Olympians. More evil because they are not corrupt, but pure. Pure beyond any consideration of mercy or tolerance. A race who would destroy all but themselves to purify the Universe. But in fighting that war, my own people have become corrupt. They too are now merciless, willing to do terrible deeds, to twist other races, other worlds, even Time itself, to achieve their ends.

"But what you have said has made me think. Perhaps it is time to end this war, the only way it can be ended. By destroying both sides. Give the Universe a chance to find its balance again. No more."

He got to his feet, lithe and vigorous despite his years. "So we meet and part, Ghost of Sparta." He said. "My thanks for your company, and your aid."

"Go well, Warrior." Kratos said, also rising. "May we both find the peace we seek!"

They grasped hands, then went their separate ways.


End file.
